Page 47 of Whiteout

“I’m of a mind to fuck you here and now, but I’m not going to,” Derek rasped, easing himself off her. “Because I am a gentleman, unlike some. You’d do well to remember that.”

“What are you talking about?” She panted.

“Most men look at a girl like you with one thing in mind—fucking.”

“But not you?”

“No.”

Could’ve fooled me.

“It takes a while for some of us to quit thinking with just our dicks—usually after college, Ian being the exception, it seems. The guy is thirty and getting laid is still the only thing he’s after.” With a soft chuckle, his arms went around her. “But see, Breanna, I want more than that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Raising her chin, Derek touched his lips to the bump on her head. “I hate that I have to go, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. In the meantime, Francie and Ted will see to anything you need.” He took a step back. “I’ll email you in the morning. My cousin will be here, should you have questions.”

Sinjin’s your cousin? The fuck?

After Derek left, hoping to shake off her headache, Breanna took some ibuprofen and got into bed. Why couldn’t she have fallen for him instead? At least he wasn’t a big, fat liar like Sinjin. “To hell with him.”

Unable to sleep, she padded into the living room and flipped a light on. Wrapping herself in a furry throw, Breanna plopped down on the sofa, intent on watching a movie. Anything to get her mind off the crazy shit going on here.

Reaching for the remote, she glanced at the snow falling on the other side of the glass. And that’s when she spotted him. Sinjin sat out on the deck—her deck, goddammit—a bottle hanging from his fingers, in front of the fire.

“You sonofabitch.”

“Don’t say that about my mother, princess.” He turned around and looked up at her, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that irresistible way it always did. “She likes you.”

Breanna wanted to smack that smirk right off his face.

“You left me.”

“I didn’t leave you.” His gaze returning to the fire, Sinjin lifted the bottle to his lips. “Sent Jordy to get you. Watched you get into his truck.”

“You are a liar.”

“I haven’t lied to you, Breanna. Not once.”

“Yeah, right, Sinjin.” She snatched the bourbon out of his hand. “Oh, wait, it’s Ian now, isn’t it? Or is that a lie, too?”

“Neither one is a lie. It’s the name my mama gave me, princess. Ask her if you don’t believe me.”

“I don’t.”

“My mother’s maiden name is St. John.” He stood, and grabbing her by the wrist, pried the bottle from her fingers. “That’s Sinjin in Old English.”

“Oh.”

“Anything else?”

Where do I even begin?

“Keeping things from me is still lying,” Breanna reasoned. “And why are you here?”

“I live here, princess—most of the time, anyway.” There was that damn smirk again. “And maybe you didn’t ask the right questions.”

Sounds like something a lawyer would say.

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